


Draw Me Close

by 26stars



Series: AU August 2020 [6]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Art, Drawing, F/M, I guess this is more angst than fluff, Soulmate AU, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, backstory speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:02:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25746313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/26stars/pseuds/26stars
Summary: Everyone in their world is born with the first drawing of their soulmate's that they will ever see marked on their body.One should consider himself lucky if his soulmate was an artist.For AU August Day 6 prompt: Soulmate AU
Relationships: Alphonso "Mack" Mackenzie/Yo Yo Rodriguez
Series: AU August 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1860802
Comments: 22
Kudos: 34
Collections: AOS AU August 2020





	Draw Me Close

**Author's Note:**

  * For [accio-the-force (XOLove47)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/XOLove47/gifts).



> So, this was on a list of Soulmate ideas: "The first drawing you see from your soulmate is tattoo-ed on your skin" and I immediately thought of Mackelena. This is only my second fic for them, so I hope they read well!

How would you like to have a child’s drawing stamped on your body forever?

Not so thrilled? Well, join the club.

Few enough people met their soulmates in their little years for it to be a common issue, but having a half-abstract scribble marked on your skin when you came out of the womb was enough of a laughable occurrence that parents usually spent more time speculating than their children did about when their baby would meet the other youngster who would make that picture sometime in the future. At elementary schools, parents who had kids with childish drawings marked on their bodies would ask around in the halls, and when technology came into play, would post pictures on message boards asking, _Did your child draw this?_

The internet had been a game-changer for some pairs of soulmates (the ones who had stick-figure or smiley-face soulmarks, not so much), but Alfie’s mother was more of the traditional sort.

“You’ll meet them when it’s time to meet them,” she promised Alfie and his brother. “And based on that picture, Alfie, you won’t be meeting anyone young enough to still be in school.”

Alfie had not been born with a scribble on him, he was born with a work of art.

It was a stunning sketch, shaded and contoured like something professional, a sketch of hands clasped in prayer. He’d been born, strangely enough, with the image on his side, between his last rib and his waist. He had stared at it plenty, had memorized its borders years ago, and had spent plenty of time wondering where he would happen upon a picture like that. At school, he still kept an eye out for people doodling on their notebooks, checked all the student art hung in the halls for anything familiar, but he graduated having never caught sight of the art his soulmate would supposedly make one day.

~

Elena was born with a sketch of a motorcycle down the side of her thigh.

“I guess this means you were born to move fast,” her father said, tickling the drawing and then tickling her ribs, making her squeal with joy. He picked her up and spun her around, then pointed the leg with the motorcycle ahead of them and raced around the house with her, making the sound of an engine.

When she got older, she tried drawing the motorcycle herself using the mirror for reference. She had never seen a bike like it—all the motorcycles in her city were function over fashion. Quickly though, she found herself coming back to the sketchbook for more attempts, then practicing different subjects…

It wasn’t long before art became a passion completely separate from her search for her soulmate. She exceled in it in school, found a way to continue classes after she graduated, and lost herself in the world of possibility. The motorcycle on her leg was just part of the scenery most of the time, though she still did a knee-jerk double-take whenever she saw art of motorcycles. She’d memorized the picture on her body so long ago that she knew every line and smudge, so she could always tell fairly quickly that the picture in front of her was not quite what she was looking for.

She was an experienced enough artist by then that she could sketch her soulmark from memory and make it look better than its artist did, but she knew that was not the point. The point was finding the X on your treasure map, the one who left the clue, knowing something when you saw it and then choosing from there what you did next.

~

Mack knew he would never live down the fact that he was captured by a tiny little Colombian woman, Inhuman or not—Hunter would likely never let him forget this for as long as he lived. Daisy freed him from the bindings holding him to the chair, and Mack helped his team restrain the woman before loading her up to their car to shuttle to the Zephyr. While sweeping her apartment for any identification or left-behind weapons, he noticed for the first time how many paintings were on the walls of every room. On the way out, an open sketchbook sitting on an end table in the living room seemed to call out to him, and he went over to investigate, telling himself it’s just part of their background check on the new Inhuman…

On the first page, a familiar image stared back—two hands clasped in prayer. He knew the picture to the smallest detail, so he couldn’t even convince himself that this one was not quite right. It was _exactly_ right.

But it was probably drawn by the woman they are currently taking into custody for attacking local police.

_Great._

He hesitated, torn between bringing the picture with him, leaving it behind, and throwing it in the trash.

_Whatever you do, it won’t change what it means…_

In the end, he closed the sketchbook and tossed it back on the sofa, turning and hurrying after his team.

_One mess at a time._

~

Elena reappeared in his life at Daisy’s side the next time, part of her new Secret Warriors team of Inhumans. Back at the base, there wasn’t long to talk before another crisis overtook them, this time pitting everyone against the Inhumans, and eventually, just Daisy. Elena left after that, upset by the situation and everyone’s reaction to it, so Mack was surprised to see her again not long after Daisy put him on bedrest by breaking his ribs. When she tried to help him with the wraparound ice pack, he got fidgety with her hands so close to the mark on his ribs, but it didn’t matter—she couldn’t see it beneath his shirt anyway.

After getting shown up by Lincoln and the rest of his team making plans without him, Mack retreated to his room to sulk and wait for fresh painkillers to kick in. It was days like this that made him want to resign (actually resign, not the half-assed attempt he’d made a year ago…), so he did the only logical thing for a moment like that—he let himself dream.

There was a folder he kept for time like this, one with the ideas he only let himself entertain at certain times. Sketches of things he’d like to build, ads for the house he’d like to fix-up, postcards of places he’s never been except on missions… Looking at these things sometimes felt like a mirror, helping him answer the question for himself— _Why not now?_

There was always _something_. There was always some crisis on the horizon (or right in his face), always someone he cared enough about to keep risking life and limb for, always some noble reason he could talk himself out of pulling the trigger and walking away.

His partner was a hostage to a monster. Today he could tell himself that she deserved his efforts a little longer, broken ribs be damned.

It hurt a little to wrap his fractured fingers around a pencil, but once he got the sketch underway, he stopped noticing the pain. Something new, a weapon worth building in case something like that monster ever stood in front of him again…

Someone knocked on his door.

“It’s open!” he called without even raising his head until someone stepped into his room.

“Elena!” he gasped, both happy and surprised.

It all evaporated as her eyes fell to his bed, where his old sketches were spread out, and her expression transformed immediately.

He waited, barely breathing, as she slowly picked up the nearest picture, a sketch of a motorcycle that he’d drawn a couple of years back, in simpler times. She stared at it for a long time, her brow furrowed, then slowly lowered the paper and looked at him.

“I guess I’m curious—of all the pictures in my apartment, which one is on you?”

There was no point in playing dumb, and Mack was relieved that she was getting straight to the point. Shifting carefully off the bed, he grimaced as he reached for the hem of his shirt and turned to one side to show her.

He wanted to watch her reaction, but he was also grateful for the excuse to look away.

“It is yours, right?” he asked cautiously. “That wasn’t something a classmate or student of yours drew?”

“No, it’s mine,” Elena said softly, and Mack jumped within his skin as a cool fingertip brushed his skin. “I drew that just the day before I met you.”

Lowering his shirt, he turned towards her and was surprised to see her hand resting on her hip.

“This—” she pointed to the motorcycle drawing on his bed, “is right here—” she gestured down the side of her right thigh. “But I guess you’ll just have to take my word for it.”

“That’s all right,” he said, nodding. “I believe you.”

They faced each other again with Mack silently sorting through the million things he could say, but none of them sounded like the right thing.

“I don’t know if we’re going to survive this,” Elena said, and he realized she was referring to their conversation earlier, about Hive and his ‘thousand years of darkness’ plan. “But I guess if we do, we can have a different kind of conversation. Before I leave though, I want to give you something. Close your eyes.”

She leaves him with her cross necklace and a commission.

~

A few months later, when her arms wrapped around his sides and rested perfectly over the mark, the _Why not now_ question suddenly meant something completely different. 


End file.
